


Cloth of Brocade and Crewel

by howfrightening



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Faustus Blackwood is only mentioned, also not proofread we just go go go, just some sad and happy song fics my babes, might do this again but i think this has enough to publish, this is the first i've written in a LONG time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 09:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19206901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howfrightening/pseuds/howfrightening
Summary: Oh the living are dead,and the dead are all living,the war is over, and we are beginning--"In our bedroom after the war", StarsOr in other words I put on a playlist at 2am and started writing. Exercising for a bigger fic.





	Cloth of Brocade and Crewel

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been on in forever, but here's this... i guess?
> 
> She's rough boys, but *slaps roof of fic* she's good.
> 
> Trigger Warning: It's not graphic per say, but the last song does deal with Zelda and the Caligari spell.

Terrible Things, April Smith-

_ The things that I’ve done, terrible things you would never believe the things that I’ve done.  _

_ Oh how you’d run if you knew a single word of all of the things that I’ve done.  _

 

She watches Mary laughing, smiling, shining as she enchants the water droplets to float around her head. Her grin turns to Zelda and somehow laughs louder, smiles wider, shines more, and Zelda is reminded of how dear the woman is to her. How she loves the wonder in her eyes whenever she demonstrates her magic for the mortal. 

 

Zelda smirked and splashed one of the droplets onto Mary’s cheek, enjoying how she scrunched up her nose and glared at Zelda.

 

“Rude,” was the affectionate reply of her lover. She adjusted her glasses and watched the water float above her head and said wistfully, “It must be so beautiful, being a witch.”

 

Spilt blood, cries of cursed people, the harrowing and murder of her sister, demons walking- Zelda’s chest tightens, because it is wonderful. Still thinks it’s beautiful. But Mary Wardwell is so  _ good _ , so kind, and Zelda wonders if she’s still deserving. 

 

Mary takes her hand, and Zelda hopes she’s worthy. 

* * *

 

Movement, Hozier-

_ Move like the grey skies _

_ Move like a bird of paradise _

_ Move like an odd sight come out at night _

 

Queendom moves along like the blood red seas of Hell, slow and forceful. 

 

Lilith is forever warmed by the burning hellfire of the sunless sky, her claws shine in its wretchedness, and her eyes reflect its glow. Those of her children that opposed her arrival are slaughtered before they cause any real trouble, and the rest bow in her movement. 

 

From the throne of Hell, one can see across the ninth circle, to the river Phlegethon and plains of abandon. Lilith watches the hordes come from every corner; bringing praise and worship, perhaps some stupid few to challenge. She will welcome them all, be it beneficiary or bloodshed. With a sigh she await their coming, cannot wait to mold the land of Hell into her vision.

* * *

 

Arsonist’s Lullabye, Hozier-

_ Don’t you ever tame your demons, _

_ But always keep ‘em on a leash.  _

 

Hilda bakes the cyanide-almond cookies with a smile, hums to herself, and even sprinkles the killer treats with sugar. She arranges them on the table and prepares the tea, adding her magic touch to make the set up all the more appetizing. There’s a knock on the door and Hilda smiles to herself and welcomes Shirley Jackson in.

 

Hilda crafts a well woven web, readies the silk with graces, charms the bait with a shy demeanor. Like her spiders, Hilda watches Shirley wander into her trap, the poor lamb, being too proud to even suspect a thing. And she waits.

 

She smiles and she cares; it’s a pity really, having to kill someone. Shirley eats the cookies almost greedily, enjoying her poison as she spews her own. Hilda thinks it’s a pity people doubt her, Shirley’s head hits the table, it really is unnecessary business death.

 

* * *

 

In Our Bedroom After the War, Stars-

_ And if the night comes and the night will come _

_ Well at least the war is over _

_ Lift your head and look out the window _

_ Stay that way for the rest of the day and watch the time go _

_ Listen, the birds sing, listen, the bells ring _

Zelda feels the weight of the past few days hit her as she walks past Sabrina’s room and feels her heart clench. How much they’ve gone through, how much her niece has gone through.

She steps into the doorway and watches her sleep, calmly, but Zelda notes the slight worry in Sabrina’s brow. She decides she doesn’t like it there. Zelda goes to the bedside and brushes her hand across Sabrina’s cheek, her concern not just over how she is resting.

Sabrina opens her eyes and yawns, “Aunt Zee?”

Zelda figures it’s time for breakfast anyways, “Time to eat, Sabrina.”

Sabrina nods, sits up to get ready, ready to help, ready to seek those who need her, “I can help Aunt Hilda with breakfast for the coven. Do you need me to do anything, Auntie?” Zelda wonders where Sabrina learned to look out for everyone before herself, where she learned to want to help. The thoughts tighten her chest and she, instead of answering, pulls her niece into a hug. Thoughts of Sabrina so young to be so burdened, wearing a crown that weighs down her head, saving the world that shouldn’t have to bear the responsibility to fix, let go of a young love she should be enjoyed. Zelda, for the first time that she can remember, hates living in the witching world. 

She pulls away to see Sabrina’s look of mild shock, and clears her throat, “That’s all I needed.”

* * *

 

Control, Halsey-

_ I'm bigger than my body _

_ I'm colder than this home _

_ I'm meaner than my demons _

_ I'm bigger than these bones _

_ And all the kids cried out, "Please stop, you're scaring me" _

_ I can't help this awful energy _

_ God damn right, you should be scared of me _

_ Who is in control? _

Petals fell and she felt them kiss her cheeks, never needing to consciously think about creating them, she simply willed it so.

She stood on the rooftop, the wind singing in her veins, Satan, she was so ready to jump.

The music box appeared in her hands, willed it so, she should be scared of her ability, but she’s so scared for her Aunt Zee who is smiling too brightly.

She lets the apparition go and hopes her cousin to be safe, she has to help him, she needs to help him.

She lets the power go and yet somehow, she doomed them all. She has to fix this, or hell below help her, she doesn’t know what she’ll do.

* * *

 

 

Wildflowers, Tom Petty-

_ You belong among the wildflowers _

_ You belong in a boat out at sea _

_ You belong with your love on your arm _

_ You belong somewhere you feel free _

The Summer Solstice was the holiday Ambrose lived for, in all meaningful senses of the word. He welcomed autumn in its mystery, the winter in its history, and spring in its present, but the Summer Solstice-was forever. 

He breathed in the fresh air, the fragrance of the lilac trees, Aunt Hilda’s garden, and the solstice loaves baking. He felt almost free. There never seemed to be any problems on this day, even his Aunt Zelda was almost cheerful. Hoping off his perch on great grandpa Maximus’s gravestone, Ambrose made his merry way back into the manor.

Light filters in through the windows, the rays made faintly hazy by the smoke as the cherry and vanilla incense burned through the open window, competing only with the freshly baked pastries piled high on the table. Grabbing one, Ambrose followed the sound of laughter into the living room where he saw Hilda and Sabrina placing flowers into Zelda’s hair, earning them a continuous eye roll.  Sabrina looked up, a grin spreading across her face, “Ambrose! You have to wear flowers too! The oldest man and woman in the family have to do it.”

Ambrose shakes his head, “That has never in the history of witches been a tradition cos.”

Zelda hummed, “Oh trust me Ambrose, they apparently have heard of such an  _ ancient tradition  _ that we have not,” amusement playing in her voice. Hilda nodded, “Mm Hm so come and take your seat over here.” 

Ambrose couldn’t stop the laugh that left him and gave in. So he joins his Aunt on the floor and leans back against the couch, closing his eyes and letting the flowers adorn him.

* * *

 

 

You Should See Me In a Crown, Billie Eilish

_ Tell me which one is worse, living or dying first _

_ Sleeping inside a Hearse _

_ I don’t dream  _

Dying, if Hilda is being completely honest, is fucking terrifying. 

The being dead part isn’t all that hard, she finds she doesn’t mind that part all that much. The killing is the bad part, the instinctual fear she feels that shakes her whole body, the helplessness when she knows it’s imminent, and the hurt. The hurt is more painful than the blade, being murdered by her own sister. The resurrection, that’s the worst part.

Humans, be it witch or mortal, aren’t meant to come back, this the one fact that rings true for both peoples.  And so it’s agonizing, brains aren’t supposed to start refiring nerves, the endings singing pain. Her limbs untwist from the rigor mortis and it feels like breaking bones. Opening her eyes to darkness and immediately closing them against the soil that invades them. Cain’s soil, while fertile, is cruelly heavy, and she claws up at it, desperate to escape, to  _ breathe, she can’t breathe.  _

Breaking the surface, she coughs up the soil and spends a few precious minutes adjusting to being alive again.

* * *

 

 

Non, je ne regrette rien, Edith Piaf-

_Avec mes souvenirs_ _I set fire_

_J’ai allumé le feu_ _To my memories_

Petal pink nails wrap around petal pink flowers and she arranges them in the pretty pink vase. 

She curls her hair,  _ too tight _ , and she shakes her head to let him approve the way that it bounces.

She speaks, light and airy,  _ the modulation of her range hurts her voice,  _ and praises her husband. 

Zelda could break through stone, if she were able to, with how much she tries to resist her own movements. She wants to unleash all unholy hell with how much she wants to be free. She opens her mouth to let out a sound, she hopes for it to be twisted and ugly, something to show how she feels; instead she sings for her husband. She wants to bite out the words and make them horrible, scream, whimper, cry out for help. She receives none. 

Zelda twirls to pour tea, adds one sugar then two - and smashes the teapot on the kitchen floor. She ignores the surprise in Hilda’s voice and grinds the offending china beneath her heel. She lets Hilda steady her with two gentle hands at her shoulders and follows her into the other room to sit by the fire. Hilda leaves to fix the teapot, nothing a little webbing spell can’t stitch together, and to make some more tea. 

Zelda stares into the fire, the flames pulling her in, and breaks some more. 

She should be thankful that her coven isn’t there to see their matriarch in such a sorry state, but she almost wishes they were. She almost wants them to acknowledge her turmoil, let her know she isn’t just imaging the crushing dread she is feeling. 

Zelda only looks up from the fire when Hilda places the blanket around her shoulders, is thankful for her smile, that smile that holds no judgement. She’s glad for Hilda’s quiet comfort, knows that she’s not going to ask any questions, Zelda’s not sure she would be able to answer any at the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm planning a multi chapter that's in the works right now, but in the mean time I might do this again?? Would you want it? Please i need comments to live so tell me.


End file.
